


Color Theory

by welzes



Series: Spectrum [2]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welzes/pseuds/welzes
Summary: In a world where soulmates bless one another with the gift of color, Sandalphon wonders about the blue sky that Lucifer looks upon every morning.





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m conducting a study,” said the man in white, “regarding a theory of mine. The nature of the study is confidential; however, if you’re interested in participating, you’ll be duly compensated. What do you say?”

Sandalphon, who had neither family nor a roof over his head, said, “I’ll do it.”

The man in white smiled, but the expression did not reach his gray eyes. He laid a business card down on the counter between them—on it, there was a single name: _Lucilius_.

* * *

The gray walls of his assigned quarters stood in stark contrast to the white walls of the laboratory just beyond the door. It was a functional room, furnished with the bare necessities: a bed with pillows and sheets, a well-stocked dresser, and a handful of books sitting between holders on a desk. The upper half of the wall facing the door was dressed in a foggy mirror; upon further investigation, Sandalphon surmised it to be a one-way window.

Everything he could need was there. He had no complaints. But he still hadn’t an inkling as to why he was here, and why the man named Lucilius had taken an interest in him.

He sat on the chair by the desk and waited until a nameless researcher arrived to fetch him. Through a long corridor, he was escorted to an enclosed clearing, where Lucilius, clad in black, stood by an outdoor table with his back turned to Sandalphon and the researcher.

As they approached, Lucilius raised his head and turned around. The researcher excused themselves as quickly as they had come, leaving Sandalphon to stand frozen, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, Lucilius spoke first.

“Good morning.”

There was something different about him, Sandalphon thought. They had only spoken twice before this encounter, but he remembered Lucilius to be aloof and apathetic in his speech. This greeting was tentative, almost tender. Sandalphon opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

“Good morning,” he replied, and he sounded even more unsure aloud than he felt inside. He glanced at the beautiful pine chairs situated on either side of the table, then the cups and coffee pot on the table itself. “Is that coffee?”

Lucilius seemed to perk up at the mention of the drink, and he motioned for Sandalphon to sit before following suit. Then he reached for the pot by the handle.

“The brew is still fresh. Would you like some?” he asked, already tipping the pot toward the cup closest to Sandalphon.

Sandalphon, who was not a big fan of coffee, stuttered, “Y-yes. Thank you.”

They spent the next several minutes sipping coffee, Lucilius with more enthusiasm than Sandalphon, who would occasionally wet his lips around the edge of the cup. Coffee had always tasted too bitter, but he couldn’t well spit it out in front of his benefactor. (Come to think of it, they’d met at a coffee shop. Perhaps this was meant to be a display of social grace to ensure his cooperation.)

Once the pot was drained of half its original volume, Lucilius started, “How are you settling in? I realize that this must be a significant transition for you.”

“It’s different,” said Sandalphon, eager to place the cup back on its appropriate saucer, “but the room I’ve been given is generously fitted. Thank you.”

“What did you do before you agreed to come here?”

“Nothing, really.”

Shame prickled at his skin as he admitted the truth. He had taken up an odd job here and there to make ends meet, but his recent life had been an endless stream of one struggle to another. With nothing to his name, he was society’s disappointment in numerous respects. Something had needed to change.

He continued, “I was hoping to use this opportunity to fix that.”

At that, the corners of Lucilius’ lips curled into the faintest of smiles. “I’m grateful for your assistance.” He craned his neck to look past the glass ceiling, where the morning sun shone brightly. “Ah, the sky looks beautiful during this time of the day.”

Sandalphon followed Lucilius’ line of sight to the gray sky and its white clouds, the colors contrasting harshly with the sun’s warm rays, and voiced his agreement.

* * *

A week later, Sandalphon learned that he had spoken not with Lucilius, but Lucifer, in the clearing. They were twins; Lucilius was Lucifer’s elder brother by a small figure of time, though the reverence with which Lucifer referred to Lucilius put metaphorical years between them.

Sandalphon had spluttered upon realizing the truth, almost choking on his coffee. He was both grateful and mortified that the news had come from Lucifer and not Lucilius. Lucifer didn’t seem too concerned with the confusion.

“No need to worry,” he said to Sandalphon. “It happens more often than you would think.”

He had met Lucilius a grand total of two times and Lucifer, once—now twice—which meant that the ratio stood at three to one. Sandalphon couldn’t fathom the odds of committing the error every other encounter as the fear of unintentionally offending either brother began to well in his core. He swallowed and reached for the cup of coffee to wash down the lump in his throat.

“How are you finding your stay?” asked Lucifer.

Sandalphon, thankful for the change in subject, answered, “Not much has changed since we first . . . met. The researchers are hardly around, but they’re attentive and professional. I haven’t missed a meal.”

Perhaps he was putting it lightly. The researchers were nonexistent unless they had an assessment to conduct or a meal to deliver. By now, it had become clear to Sandalphon that he would be getting the most of his human contact with Lucifer—not Lucilius, who had vanished after the orientation meeting.

It was strange, but not unwelcome. He was well fed and looked after, and that was a marked improvement from his previous situation. Sandalphon nursed the lukewarm coffee in his hands, cradling the cup.

“I see,” said Lucifer. “That’s good news. If, in the future, there’s anything that you are in need of, you’re welcome to tell me. The researchers are skilled at what they do, but I would do what I can to help you feel at home.”

Sandalphon blinked, then ducked his head to conceal the heat spreading across his cheeks. “I will.”

* * *

A month and a half later, Sandalphon had grown accustomed to the coffee blend that Lucifer liked to use for their morning encounters. It still wasn’t a favorite, but he could drink without making a face now, and that made concentrating on the conversation at hand much simpler.

The previous week, he’d inquired as to the blend for the sake of engaging Lucifer rather than answering questions all morning. Lucifer had been most eager to share the details—most of which had flown over Sandalphon’s head, but he hadn’t had the heart to put a stop to the history lesson of where coffee had originated. Perhaps driven by this riveting seminar, Lucifer arrived today with a bag of fresh beans and a coffee maker, which he set down like a mother laying her baby to bed.

“Good morning, Lucifer,” greeted Sandalphon, starting toward his designated chair.

“Good morning, Sandalphon.” Lucifer smiled and gestured to the coffee maker. “Today, I’ll show you how I make coffee.”

There wasn’t anything revolutionary about Lucifer’s methods—only, he was considerably more patient compared to everyone else Sandalphon had seen enact the same process. Once the powder was prepared to percolate, the coffee maker was mounted on a portable stove and allowed to sit as Lucifer and Sandalphon watched. Nothing was happening; however, Lucifer looked pleased.

“You’re very passionate about coffee,” said Sandalphon.

“There’s nothing else like it in the world,” replied Lucifer. “What do you think?”

“Well . . . the aroma is divine. It’s strange how something that smells so pleasant can taste exceedingly bitter.”

Lucifer chuckled. “You’re still young.”

Then he did what he did every morning: he craned his neck and searched for open sky, taking in the scenery with calm relish. As always, Sandalphon followed Lucifer’s gaze and stared into the gray basin of the sky.

“The sky . . . Is it blue?” asked Sandalphon.

There was a moment of pause, and Sandalphon felt Lucifer’s gray eyes on him. “Yes. Is it difficult to see from where you’re sitting?”

Sandalphon shook his head and locked eyes with Lucifer. “I can’t see it. The color.”

“Forgive me. All this time, I’d been thoughtlessly showcasing what you could not enjoy in the same capacity as me.”

“It’s just a color. It stopped bothering me years ago.”

Lucifer inclined his head, his expression neutral but body language speaking for his mixed feelings on the answer. As a child, Sandalphon had struggled with the concept of a color so prolific and abundant in its hues that he’d rejected all analogies linked to it. Older as he was now, he understood how foolish he had been. He would not return to that childish temperament again, even though he was certain that he would never meet the soulmate to fill in the palette in this lifetime.

“Are your eyes blue, too?” he asked, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen between them. Lucifer’s mouth hung open in a mild display of surprise. “They look gray to me.”

“Yes. They are.” That seemed to be the end of the subject, until the fully prepared coffee was distributed among themselves and Lucifer all but whispered, “Sandalphon. One day, I’ll show you the blue sky that I see.”

* * *

Two years had passed since their first meeting—since Sandalphon had been outside or talked at length with anyone outside of Lucifer.

He could leave anytime he wanted. Lucilius had made that clear during the brief orientation period: “You’re free to go whenever you so choose. Of course, that would mean the end of our agreement as well. Stay as long as you’d like.” In the beginning, he’d intended for his part in the study to be a transitional phase of his life. Now, he wasn’t so sure on whether he wanted to leave or to stay and see the unending research to its finale.

Two years later, and he still didn’t know what the objective of the study was. The researchers were deaf to his questions. Lucifer, though he hadn’t asked directly, didn’t appear privy to all the details. And Lucilius was never around, such that Sandalphon sometimes wondered if he’d met a ghost on that fateful day at the café.

Several weeks ago, he’d daydreamed about returning to that same café to see what, if anything, had changed. His imagination had run dry the moment he’d realized that would mean walking out on the mornings with Lucifer, and he hadn’t returned to the scenario since.

Two years with Lucifer. Today’s meeting would be their second year.

“Good morning, Lucifer!”

“Good morning, Sandalphon. I discovered something interesting yesterday.”

“What’s that?”

“I saw red.”

Sandalphon’s heart skipped a beat.

“T-that’s wonderful. Where did you see it?” he asked.

“An apple,” said Lucifer. (How ironic: Lucifer didn’t like apples.) “The color was faded, but it wasn’t the usual shade of gray.”

“That’s amazing. Did you meet your soulmate, then?”

Lucifer doubted it. He hadn’t been anywhere out of the norm for his activities, and the color had been so faint that he’d had to look twice to confirm the change. Hearing the reasoning did little to assuage the pit in Sandalphon’s stomach as the rest of the morning passed.

“Yesterday, though brief, was a blessing,” Lucifer said as he rose from his seat. “To think that red was such an intense color . . . I pray that you’ll soon experience the same joy that I had. I want to show you the color that permeates the sky.”

He would never experience that joy, thought Sandalphon. The laboratory was his home. He never left. But faced with Lucifer’s hopeful smile, Sandalphon could only smile back, even if his lips trembled from the effort—because who he was to Lucifer, next to a passing soulmate?

Lucifer’s gray eyes pinched as he squinted, his brow furrowing. Perhaps Sandalphon hadn’t been as subtle with his expression as he’d thought he’d been.

“Is something the matter?” asked Lucifer.

“Huh? Oh, no. Nothing. It’s just . . . I don’t want to leave you waiting for something that might not happen,” admitted Sandalphon, his lips drooping into a small frown.

“Why do you say that?”

“I haven’t left the lab in two years. Where will I meet my soulmate here?”

Lucifer closed his eyes. “I was ignorant. Forgive me. I will remedy this.”

“What? How?”

“I will speak with my brother to escort you outside. While the true nature of the study eludes me, I’m sure he will grant this request with the right conditions.”

Over the months of ritualistic meetings and assessments, Sandalphon had grown accustomed to living in complaisance. As Lucifer spoke, the conviction in those words kindled the warmth of something like hope in his hollow chest. He would be able to leave the laboratory, to see the sky and breathe the air with Lucifer by his side.

* * *

_“I forbid it.”_

_“Why? What variable is so delicate that you must keep him confined for an indefinite period of time?”_

_“Taking him out for one day could very well jeopardize all we’ve been working for in the past two years. He’s cooperated with us for the current duration of the experiment. I don’t see why he should go out now.”_

_“ . . . ”_

_“On the other hand, it is good that he spurs feelings of desire within you. Whatever it is that you’re doing, I encourage you to keep doing it.”_

_“I understand.”_

* * *

A week later, Lucifer arrived to deliver the verdict; however, Sandalphon already knew the answer from the visible tension written on his face. Sandalphon chewed on his lower lip, his hands curling into fists to lessen their trembling.

“Lucifer . . . ”

“Sandalphon,” Lucifer started, his eyes closed and his eyebrows pinched together in a show of remorse, “I cannot take you outside.”

It didn’t hurt. Sandalphon only felt numb as his eyes wandered to the side, recalling all the months that had passed since his coming down to the laboratory for the first time. How strange, he thought, that time would pass so quickly in confinement.

“Two years,” he murmured, his tone flat. “Two years, I haven’t left this place. Did he . . . did Lucilius say why?”

“No. Only that he wants us to continue our meetings.”

Sandalphon swallowed, the lump in his throat growing thicker with each breath that he took. Slowly, he sunk to his knees, until the tears burned hot in his eyes and the insecurity he’d been holding at bay needled his chest. Two years, and he was still floundering in the dark, wondering where his place was in everything—petrified by the idea of never seeing the blue sky that Lucifer so loved.

“If I’m not going anywhere and not doing anything, then . . . then why the hell am I here?” he cried, burying his face in his hands.

He felt something on his shoulder and flinched. Lucifer’s hand lifted from his body, and he pushed his palms against his wet eyes, helpless before the compulsion to cry. He wept and Lucifer said nothing.

* * *

_“In deference to your knowledge and standing, I’ve done as you’ve asked. Now I must ask you: What is the purpose of the study?”_

_“Hm. I’ve always been concerned about your sight—you know this much. Unlike you, I was born with a full color vision. I could study all the papers and articles on the subject of soulmates and color, but I wouldn’t understand it as intimately as you.”_

_“That matters little to me. I’ve managed this long without seeing all the colors.”_

_“Red is an essential color that can be found everywhere. And since you’re having difficulty encountering your soulmate, I thought about taking a more . . . practical measure.”_

_“What do you mean?”_

_“Soulmates complete one another by filling in the missing color of their other’s visual palette. Say, then, that you place two incompatible individuals in a controlled environment that fosters the beginnings of a bond. With time, will these individuals undergo a cognitive shift to acknowledge one another as a potential soulmate, however inferior? And if so, will they be able to acquire the gift of color that has been denied them since birth?”_

_“Is that your theory?”_

_“Yes. And judging by the faint hint of red you discovered a week ago, the study seems to have borne fruit. You and Sandalphon have begun to subconsciously bond.”_

_“Lucilius! This is an unethical experiment. End it immediately, and let Sandalphon return to society.”_

_“And then what? What do you intend to achieve by releasing him? He’s been absent from the real world for two years. How will he survive, homeless and penniless as he is? Will you bring him to our home like a pet bought from a kennel? Don’t be foolish. It’s too late to go back. As far as Sandalphon is concerned, he’ll live out the rest of his days in that lab, existing only to give you that color you’ve been denied.”_

_“Sandalphon . . . ”_

* * *

A month later, Lucifer had still yet to visit. Had he done something wrong by losing his temper and crying like a child? Sandalphon curled in on himself, gripping his shoulders tightly in an attempt to appear smaller as he pressed his back against the corner of the room that he hadn’t left in thirty-something days.

There were no windows in his room. It was dark and gray, and the walls felt like they were closing in on him.

He wanted to see Lucifer again. It didn’t matter if he had to spend the rest of his life here, so long as he could sit in the clearing and watch the sky with Lucifer once more. Lucifer was the only source of warmth in the laboratory; the researchers, the assessments, and Lucilius—they were all cold.

A month ago, he’d endured two years of solitary confinement without complaint. But now, even half of a day was too much to bear, and his mind swirled with deprecatory thoughts.

Had he thought that this would last? He’d been foolish, he thought. Lucifer had a life beyond the study—a soulmate he’d passed by on the street to track down. To hope that Sandalphon could have monopolized any more of Lucifer’s attention had been hubris.

Sandalphon grimaced and buried his face in his arms, biting down on his lower lip. He wanted to cry, to scream; yet nothing came out of him, and so he sat there instead, hunched in the same position he’d adopted an indiscernible number of hours ago.

What made the sky blue? What did blue look like, to make the grungy gray sky so appealing in the equally gray eyes of Lucifer?

He exhaled through his nose. A couple of breaths later, the door swung open and someone strode inside. Turning his head to the side, Sandalphon froze as he watched Lucifer approach him.

“Sandalphon!”

“You’re here,” said Sandalphon, dumbly.

“Yes. I’m sorry that I took so long, but certain arrangements needed to be made.” Lucifer knelt down and offered a hand. “Come.”

Scowling, Sandalphon looked aside. “To the clearing?”

“No. The study has been terminated. You’re free to go.”

Slowly, Sandalphon began to untangle his limbs. His arms protested from the movement after a long period of stillness, but he moved as though he were in a trance. Lucifer’s words buzzed around his ears, explaining the question of the study he’d been asking for so long, and he crawled to a stand.

“So that’s it . . . Everything was made up? It was all engineered?” whispered Sandalphon, before he expelled a bark of laughter. “And now it’s ending like it was nothing? Was I such a disappointment for managing only an impression of red that I must be cast aside? All I had to do was talk to you, and this is as far as I got.” He laughed again, the sound weak and broken. “Pathetic . . . absolutely pathetic!”

They were bitter, hateful words; rolling off his tongue like a cacophonous symphony. As he gazed upon Lucifer’s stunned visage, he regretted them. He wished that he’d said nothing, that he hadn’t asked for anything a month ago.

“Sandalphon—”

“No! I don’t want to hear any more! This lab, this . . . this farce—I’m through with it all. Leave me!”

* * *

It turned out that Lucifer had taken a month away from the laboratory to prepare living arrangements for Sandalphon. There were no expectations for Sandalphon to foot any sort of bill, and he could take as much time to reintegrate into society as he pleased. The financial allowance he was given was, frankly, enormous. Other than that, Lucifer had ceased all correspondence.

It had been weeks since his leaving the laboratory, yet Sandalphon found himself clinging to old habits. He didn’t leave unless he had to; there was plenty of food in the space, and he had no friends or acquaintances to meet outside. It was too daunting to step outside on his own, where the immense gray sky threatened to overwhelm his vision.

And yet, he wanted to see it. Even now, he wanted to see the blue sky more than anything else. But it was too late to make amends with Lucifer, and so their splintered connection would lie—half-baked and useless.

* * *

_“Hey, Lucifer. Still moping over your crush? Come on. You can’t keep him tucked away like a secret affair forever. Hey, what about the waitress from the other day? Same red eyes. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll score a threesome!”_

_“What did you say?”_

_“Threesome? You know, when it’s not just two, but—”_

_“His eyes are red. Of course.”_

_“Oh. You’re just realizing that now, after you two spent years staring at each other?”_

_“Enough, Belial. Lucifer, we’re leaving for the consortium. Don’t do anything foolish while we’re gone.”_

_“All right, all right. See you later, lover boy. Don’t get too excited without me or your brother.”_

_“Red . . . ”_

_(Sandalphon. I didn’t realize it then, but someday . . . I would like to see that vibrancy in your eyes when you gaze upon the sky in its full color.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think a lot about Sandalphon’s capacity for suffering. There’s never been a time when he’s caught a break: the labs, the rampage, the cradle, the succession, and now the nightmares—he was always hurting in some form. I’m amazed he’s still sane after everything he’s been through, self-inflicted torture or no. The power of love is strong.
> 
> This fic was born from an idea planted in my head by the lovely Dana, who . . . had actually given me a hopeful and happy premise, which I took and plunged into the depths of hell without looking back. I’m bad.
> 
> By the way, Sandalphon’s room had blue walls to gauge when he’d start seeing the color. The reason he didn’t see any impressions of blue was because his insecurity kept the bond from blooming. It takes two to tango.


	2. Chapter 2

Sandalphon had lost track of the time he’d spent cooped up in the house Lucifer had left him to roam.

That was a lie. It had been exactly four weeks.

He could count the number of times he’d ventured out into the public on one hand. It could have been worse—it wasn’t as though he’d lost the ability to function around other people; however, the less he saw of that massive sky, the better.

He’d throw his hood up and take the most direct path to the nearest convenience store, where he would buy a bag of fresh beans with which to brew coffee the way he’d seen Lucifer do it. Staying awake was easier with the bitter aftertaste of coffee lingering on his tongue than to face the dreams colored with sickening nostalgia. Sandalphon didn’t know what to do with himself and the feelings that refused to die.

In every memory of their encounter, he remembered first and foremost the dull grayish shade of Lucifer’s eyes.

He had ruined everything. Lucilius had entrusted him with a simple task. More than once, Sandalphon wondered if—maybe had he done a better job—he’d be able to see Lucifer without the familiar feeling of shame threatening to swallow him whole over the mere thought.

* * *

On the start of the fifth week, Sandalphon had just returned from his most recent trip to the store and closed the door behind him, when he heard a strange clatter from the direction of the kitchen. His shoulders tensing, he walked with careful steps to come upon the sight of a pink-haired woman placing various beverages inside the refrigerator.

“Who are you?” he asked.

The woman’s head snapped in his direction, revealing a young and kind face. “You must be our guest. Oh, did you go to buy some coffee beans? I wondered why those were so well-stocked.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No, it doesn’t.” She chuckled, as if that was somehow funny. “My name is Gabriel. I’m one of the staff assigned to the upkeep of this place.”

“This is my first time seeing you here,” said Sandalphon, in a matter-of-fact tone.

“We don’t come by too often. Until recently, this house was in relative disuse. But since that’s changed, you’ll be seeing the rest of us more soon.”

That was how it began. The lovely, lonely abode for which Sandalphon had traded his prison was no longer so abandoned as other members of the staff trickled in after Gabriel’s surreal entrance.

* * *

The gardener was a man of impressive frame and an equally jovial character. He took his time when he attended to the plants, speaking to them like they were old friends of his. Sandalphon had thought Uriel strange, at first—and that impression hadn’t faded much thereafter, because he also thought that Uriel was _too_ optimistic about everything under the sun.

“Come here, Sandalphon,” said Uriel, motioning to a spot of shade, near which an old bench swing hung in suspension under a tree. “You’re always cooped up inside. You should spend some time in the yard. The fresh air will be good for your health.”

“I’m not sick,” replied Sandalphon, though he followed the suggestion regardless.

“You don’t have to be ill to enjoy the company of nature. When was the last time you took the time to take in the greenery around you?”

Sandalphon paused, then said, “Two months ago.”

He and Lucifer had followed a routine: greet each other, talk over freshly brewed coffee, and then choose a topic to pursue for the morning. Sometimes, they would leave the elegant table and chairs behind to walk around the artificial clearing, during which Lucifer would show his appreciation for the small miracle of life in all things.

Lucifer would have liked this yard, thought Sandalphon. So he asked, “Whose house is this?”

“You mean that you don’t know? Well, I’m sure you’ve got an idea by now, but this used to be Lucilius and Lucifer’s old family home. After he started making a name for himself, Lucilius moved out. Lucifer didn’t take long to strike out after that.” Uriel grinned as he trimmed a bush. “He used to spend all his time out here, even during the winter.”

“He did . . . ”

Long after Uriel had finished his work for the visit and departed, Sandalphon found himself in front of the old bench swing. The rope tying the swing to a wide branch of the tree behind it was frayed, but still felt stable under the tip of Sandalphon’s outstretched fingers. He stood there; picturing his conjured image of a younger, carefree Lucifer swinging on the bench.

* * *

“I don’t know how to make that,” said Sandalphon.

“You’re going to learn today,” replied Michael, the resident cook. “You made a fine attempt yesterday. Now, let’s go over the recipe together. What do you think the first step should be?”

He gleaned the introductory section. “Pre-heating the oven.”

“Very good.”

Michael was a strict but fair teacher. Of all the household staff, she came in the most often to prepare meals for Sandalphon. In turn, he was expected to practice a recipe with each visit.

It wasn’t that he’d never cooked so much as that he’d never done it to this level of detail. Michael strove for quality and discouraged waste. She was quick to point out what could be better; at the same time, she didn’t hesitate to point out what had gone well. Tonight was no different as she sampled the pastry Sandalphon had baked on her instruction.

Sandalphon followed suit and made a slight face. “It’s mediocre.”

“There’s nothing wrong with mediocre,” said Michael. Sandalphon knew that there was nothing _noteworthy_ about mediocrity, either, but said nothing. “You should congratulate yourself on this attempt, Sandalphon. Your precision and dedication to excellence are admirable, but those same standards of yours are holding you back. I suggest that you not be so hard on yourself when things don’t turn out the way you expect them to.”

Michael huffed with good-natured mirth.

“I know your habits enough by now to say that you’re not nearly as much of a mess as you believe you are,” she said.

She’d managed about ten words before Sandalphon had looked away, his ears burning with each frank statement she made. What she said made sense, but a part of him didn’t believe it: He wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t such a disappointment.

* * *

He didn’t know what Raphael’s role in the house was. The reticent man came and went as he pleased, and there never seemed to be a pattern behind his visits. He was simply there one moment, then gone the next; whether he would return within a week or a month was a mystery to Sandalphon, who wasn’t interested enough to ask.

Raphael’s distance didn’t especially offend Sandalphon. Sometimes, the quiet and time to himself were blessings instead of the usual curse. On the other hand, he knew very well what Halluel and Malluel got up to when they dropped by the house.

The twins were like clockwork, swooping in at the same day and time every week to flit about with their cleaning supplies. By the time they finished, every reflective surface would shine with such luster that he didn’t mind the way they talked at him like he was a fly on the wall, which wasn’t too far from the truth. Yet, for some reason, they were always in short supply of one thing or another, and Sandalphon found himself going out more frequently than he’d ever planned to replenish their inventory.

“Oh, dear. It looks like the plunger isn’t working,” Malluel would say.

Then Halluel would shout, “Hey, Sandalphon! You heard her. Go buy us a new plunger at the convenience store. You know what that is, I’m sure. If you don’t, you’re cleaning the toilet by yourself.”

At first, their air-headed demands had annoyed him. Then, one day, he started to slip his shoes on and slide the hood of his jacket over his head the moment the door would swing open to signal their arrival.

* * *

Gabriel tended to the overall upkeep of the house, filling in the gaps where the others didn’t overlap. She was by far the most personable of the bunch, in that she obsessed over making small talk with Sandalphon, who considered such chatter tedious at best. She caught him early one morning, while he was pouring the first cup of coffee, and served herself the second once she strode inside the kitchen.

“This is a wonderful brew,” she said upon taking a sip. “It reminds me of someone.”

By now, Sandalphon knew the name of the game, so he replied, “Lucifer.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened in feigned surprise, as though she hadn’t been expecting him to participate. For many months, he hadn’t.

“Oh, so you can say his name now?” she asked.

“I’m tired of your games. Get to the point.”

“There’s no point, per se. It’s just nice to hear your honesty. Doesn’t it feel better for you, too?”

“I don’t feel anything,” said Sandalphon, and that wasn’t the entire truth.

He always felt something. Most of all, the faint throb of regret was always there—so long by now that he might as well consider it his permanent state, which was why he said what he’d said. That, and he didn’t like to talk about those buried feelings that struck his chest from the inside-out like a sledgehammer when they surfaced. He set his cup of coffee down on the counter, scowling.

“I’m sure you don’t,” said Gabriel, and he rankled at that patronizing tone she would adopt when their conversations headed this way. “Your birthday is next month, isn’t it?”

“How do you know that?”

Gabriel’s lips stretched into her trademark, saccharine smile as she leaned against the counter. “Someone who considers you very important told me.”

Sandalphon pondered this knowledge that night as he stared at the ceiling, his thoughts inevitably drifting to the multitudinous memories of Lucifer’s gray eyes as they gazed at the grungy sky. Months had passed since those clinical, utopian days; and with them, he realized, the ache in his chest had subsided to a dull throb from its initial piercing stab.

Had Lucifer met his soulmate yet, or was their artificial bond interfering in that natural process he deserved? Was he still seeing hints of red while Sandalphon saw only gray where blue should be? Would Lucifer ever see the vivid scarlet of an apple’s coat, or was he doomed to a dispiriting preview for the rest of his foreseeable life?

He’d been cruel to push Lucifer away, Sandalphon thought.

* * *

The week before his birthday, Sandalphon flagged Gabriel down at the door. “Wait, Gabriel.”

“What is it?”

“You asked me what I wanted for next week,” he said. It was ridiculous, how Gabriel insisted on getting him a present like he was a child, but he would work that to his advantage. “I . . . I want to see him—if you can arrange that.”

He locked gazes with her, and Gabriel straightened like she was seeing him for the first time. She smiled, the expression tender and lifting the corners of her eyes.

“Of course I can.”

The night before his birthday, Sandalphon sat in the dining room and wrung his hands around a cup of cooling coffee. Not knowing when Lucifer would arrive tomorrow frayed on his nerves and upset his stomach. It had to be sometime around the evening, after Lucifer would have attended his daily rituals.

Sleep came late, but deep, for Sandalphon.

* * *

But he was not of the sort to sleep in, and so he awoke at the same hour that he did every morning. Sandalphon climbed out of bed, then padded out of the guest room and along the hallway to the kitchen, where Lucifer was brewing coffee. Too shocked to comprehend his surroundings, he kept walking until he knocked into a chair, its legs screeching against the tile floor and knocking into the counter’s body.

“Ah,” Lucifer intoned upon turning around, his expression one of pleasant surprise. “Good morning, Sandalphon. Did you just wake up?”

Lucifer looked no different from their last meeting, still clad in an excess of black with a head of snowy hair framing his serene face. There was now a red scarf, however, and the new fabric hung loosely around his shoulders to rest at the level of his waist.

Nodding, Sandalphon croaked, “G-good morning.”

“I’ve just finished making some coffee. I’ll pour you a cup.” Lucifer gestured for Sandalphon to sit before setting two cups down on the counter between them. “Gabriel said that you wished to see me.”

“I thought you’d be coming at night.”

Lucifer paused as he was about to take a sip. “Am I too early? Gabriel hadn’t mentioned a time.”

“No.” Sandalphon looked aside, avoiding Lucifer’s eyes in favor of the floor. “I just assumed.”

And that was the problem, wasn’t it; he thought. Lifting his head, Sandalphon reached for the nearest cup and held it close. The aroma, sweet and soothing, was just as he remembered it, although there was a slight deviation in taste for the simple reason that the beans weren’t the same.

Lucifer asked after his health and well-being, and he answered, “I’m fine—better than before.”

“That’s good to hear.” Sandalphon saw the drop in Lucifer’s shoulders and knew that his relief was sincere.

“Your scarf is new,” he said, for the lack of anything better to add. Lucifer’s hand rose to touch the fabric by the neck. “Can you . . . see it? The color.”

“Somewhat.”

“Then why wear it?”

“It reminds me of you. Of course, the colors are still faded; however, they’re no longer a deep gray, and I have you to thank for that.” At this, Lucifer smiled fondly, and Sandalphon felt the welling of a gentle warmth in his chest. “Thank you, Sandalphon. Although it’s your birthday, it seems that it’s you who’s given me this priceless gift.”

For a brief moment, it was like they were back in the indoor clearing, where everything had been simpler. But then Lucifer’s lips turned down as his brow pinched, and he looked awash with something resembling remorse.

“Forgive me. It was never my intention to hurt you. Please . . . will you let me stay the night? I don’t want you to be alone on this day of celebration.”

It was his house. Lucifer could do whatever he wanted, but he’d asked and Sandalphon didn’t feel inclined to demand otherwise. Instead, he propped his arms on the counter by the elbows and dug his forehead into his palms, his eyes watering as he stared at the pristine white surface.

“Don’t leave me,” he said.

He felt Lucifer’s comforting hand on his hair, solid and persisting. “I won’t.”

* * *

The next day, Lucifer was still sound asleep in his old room when Sandalphon emerged from his own deep slumber two doors down. For the first time in months, he felt clear-headed and light on his feet as he marched to the kitchen and prepared coffee. Upon a whimsical consideration, he moved the set outside and, within the hour, Lucifer found the way to the yard for their morning jolt.

“It’s delicious,” said Lucifer, his lips forming a smile around the edge of the cup.

Sandalphon nodded. He counted to one, then two, then three before he said, “Sorry.” Blinking slowly, Lucifer lowered the cup to his lap. “Back then, for doubting you. I was disappointed in myself and drove you away. I didn’t think about how that would affect you. I was only thinking of myself . . . ”

Even when he’d taken Lucilius’ offer, he had been thinking about himself and no one else. In the end, he thought, it was Lucifer who hadn’t been duplicitous throughout the whole affair.

“All is well, Sandalphon. What matter is that we’re here now,” said Lucifer, and there was such certainty in his voice that Sandalphon didn’t think to argue. More importantly, the smile he gave was easy and genuine. “Drinking coffee with you like this has brought me an indescribable amount of joy. It was you who made this possible by taking that crucial step toward conversation.”

“Ah . . . ”

Caressing the cup on his lap, Lucifer raised his head and looked past the trees to the sky beyond.

“The sky is beautiful this morning,” he said.

“Yeah, it is,” replied Sandalphon as he, too, looked up. “So that’s blue.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, ma! I wrote a hopeful ending.
> 
> This arc of the story focused on Sandalphon’s healing, because his damaged sense of self-worth from the previous arc hindered his capacity to connect with others. By growing more comfortable with his place in everything, he acquired a sense of belonging and built relationships with the household staff, which later allowed him to advance the stunted bond with Lucifer to the next preliminary stage. In the last scene, he saw a smidgen of blue as proof of his progress.
> 
> Lucifer’s flaw was his inability to communicate. He had the right idea to offer space, but he gave too much of it while withholding contact. In a way, this was meant to allow Sandalphon the room to move on, except Sandalphon wanted closure more than an escape. When asked, Lucifer didn’t hesitate to come over, so his actions spoke louder than his missing words.
> 
> It says something that Sandalphon is the more communicative one of the two, even though his gut reaction is to bury everything.


End file.
